


How Far from Morning

by Mareel



Series: Refuge [15]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-22
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:56:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mareel/pseuds/Mareel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yesterdays and tomorrows… the personal aftermath of the Xindi mission</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Far from Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fifteenth in the Refuge series, a look at how the mission to the Delphic Expanse affected the established relationship between Jonathan and Malcolm. It does stand alone, but makes reference to earlier parts of the series, and alludes to events in Season 3 canon. However, it diverges from canon events following their return to Earth after the destruction of the Xindi weapon and should be considered AU to the events in "Home" except for the board of inquiry hearing.
> 
> My deepest thanks to those who waited so patiently for this to finally be completed and gently reminded me of it now and then. Both Jonathan and Malcolm tell their parts of this story, and it took a long time to get them to share it all with me. The title and section headers are from Enya’s “Fallen Embers.”

**_Once, as my heart remembers…_ **  
  
__

"That's enough, Captain."  
  
Admiral Forrest's voice held the unmistakable ring of command, but somehow I didn't really care. After days of being grilled and second-guessed – by Starfleet, by the Vulcan High Command, by __everyone__ who wasn't there – about every miniscule aspect of what had been the most hellacious command of my life, I was past wanting to check my real thoughts at the door when Forrest asked to see me privately. I'd been ordered to do whatever it took to ensure the survival of Earth in the wake of the Xindi attack. We managed to do that, but somehow Earth doesn't feel like the place we left so many months ago. Despite the sweeping welcome speeches, it doesn't feel to me as if we've really come home at all.  
  
"Take some time off, Jonathan."  
  
Max Forrest knows me pretty well, and generally knows when to stop pushing and let me work things through for myself. I know he didn't mean it to sound as patronizing as it did to me at the time, and he meant well; I just wasn't in a mood to be shuffled off like an old man or a naughty child when I was still trying to make sense of this world we've come home to, and of my place in it. Hell, I might still be facing a court martial, or worse, if the Vulcans have their way. Not a good time for a vacation. But Forrest made it an order.  
  
"Let's go back up to the coast, love. I've been wanting to do that since... "  
  
Malcolm's voice broke almost imperceptibly as his words trailed off, but I heard the rest of his sentence as clearly as if it had been spoken aloud. I wrapped my arms around him and drew him close as I finished the sentence, wanting no silences between us.  
  
"... since you thought I'd been killed. You were going to mourn me there. I know, Malcolm, you told me. I'm so sorry you had to go through all that..."  
  
Malcolm turned in my arms and his eyes met mine, his gaze holding silently for long moments.  
  
"Please, Jon... please come with me. It will do us both good to have some time away together. Especially there, and especially now... now that I know you're safe."  
  
I don't know why I still hesitated. I thought I might be needed at Starfleet, might be needed to help plan the _Enterprise_ refit... but as Malcolm pointed out, Starfleet thought we all deserved some shore leave. And was insisting that we take it.

* * *

**_Once, when night seemed forever…_ **

  
So here we are, in what we've come to think of as our own private place, the small town on the rocky Oregon coast where we exchanged vows over a year ago, just before the mission to the Expanse. It was a promise between us for the future, a promise that there would __be__ a future. When we set foot on the beach again, I knew Mal was right in his instinct to come back. It is as close to home as I've felt in a long time.  
  
This place feels so… normal. It seems untouched by the events and turmoil of the past year or so, at least on the surface. The surf still breaks against the rocks; the tides rise and ebb. Visitors browse the small shops in town; laughing children splash in the small waves lapping on a sheltered beach.  
  
We just watched a little boy and his father playing together on the shore, wading into the tidepools. Somehow I found that reassuring – that people are vacationing and raising children and going about their lives. That’s good. It’s why we did what we did out there – so that life could go on for everyone back here.  
  
But I still don’t feel any more at peace about it.  
  
Malcolm and I walk along the beach, hand in hand, heading away from everyone else, up toward where the coarse sand gives way to more rugged shoreline. We’ve been walking in silence except for the sounds of the waves and the wind. Normally such silences are comfortable, but this one seems to grow heavier with every step.  
  
When we reach a quiet cove, partly sheltered from the wind, I sit down to rest on an old weathered log and look up at Mal, silently asking him to join me.  
  
He does settle onto the log next to me, looking a bit puzzled, especially when I don’t continue. He reaches over to rest a hand on my arm. The simple contact is reassurance that he’s here and willing to listen to me. I’m still not sure where to start, or how to say any of this, but I need very much to talk to him, to try to make him understand everything that feels bottled up inside me.  
  
“Malcolm, I’m so sorry.”  
  
His hesitation tells me that this wasn’t what he was expecting in terms of a conversation starter.  
  
“Sorry for what, love?”  
  
“I don’t know… for everything. For being such an ass, for how badly I treated you… how I treated everyone. For the things I did out there that I can hardly stand to remember, let alone relive at the damn inquiry panel.”  
  
He stokes his hand along my arm slowly, bringing it to cover my own hand resting on my knee.  
  
“You did what you had to do, Jon. I’ve already told you that I forgive anything you did that hurt me at all. It’s over, love. You need to find a way to let it go.”  
  
I turn my head to meet his eyes.  
  
“I know. I know you’ve forgiven me, but I don’t deserve that from you. Hell, it seems the whole damn world forgives me. But god, they would have forgiven genocide if that’s what it took to save this place for them.”  
  
I pause, trying to find the words for this, looking past Mal now, focusing on the distant horizon.  
  
“That’s what keeps haunting me. What if we’d had to do just that? Could I have lived with that? Could __you__ have lived with us having done that – destroying the Xindi to save ourselves?”  
  
In the few moments it takes to say this, I’m transported back into the Expanse; my thoughts are those I wrestled with on a hundred sleepless nights out there. But this time there is no keeping them bottled up.  
  
“I would have given the orders… and would have had to either push the damn button myself or order you to do it. Could you live the rest of your life – especially with __me_ _ – knowing I’d ordered you to destroy a world?”  
  
I pause, but I really don’t expect an answer from him. I’m not even sure I want to know his answer to that question right now.  
  
“I don’t think so. I would have tried to do it myself… only me to blame that way. Like I tried to destroy that damn weapon myself… twice. I needed to keep you out of it, __whatever__ it cost me.”  
  
Malcolm listens to all of this in silence, and then abruptly withdraws his hand as he stands and takes a few steps away from me. He turns back for a moment to reply, his expression and his voice both tightly controlled.  
  
“I need to think about what you’ve just said, Jonathan. You told me it __wasn’t__ a suicide mission… that you’d be back. I thought you’d miscalculated – it happens – but not that you’d lied to me.“  
  
He continues walking slowly away from me. All I can do is watch him go, give him space. I can’t blame him. I don’t want to be around me either.

* * *

After a time I do follow, finally catching up to him about a mile up the coast. He’s sitting on a rocky outcropping, and his face is hard to read. I sit down behind him, close enough to catch his words but not touching him.  
  
“I’m sorry, Malcolm. I don’t know how you can forgive me any of this. But just so you know… I didn’t lie to you. I’ve never lied to you.”  
  
I try to figure out how to say this, how I can possibly make him understand what I was thinking… what I was feeling. I hear my own voice like it’s coming from someone else, or from far away.  
  
“But I didn’t really think I’d make it back either. I __hoped__ I would. I was sure as hell going to try... but I absolutely couldn’t let you sacrifice yourself. I was damned already… by all I'd done. And all I didn’t do.”  
  
Without turning toward me, Mal shakes his head.  
  
“Damn it, Jon… that was __my__ fucking __job__ to do. And yours was to order me to do it.”  
  
I have no answer for that at the moment. That’s a whole other argument, one that gets tangled up in the questionable justification of my own actions as simply following the orders I’d been given. My thoughts are running faster than my words now, and I need to say all of this without getting sidetracked. If Malcolm hates me after this, at least I will have been honest with him.  
  
I don’t know what to do with my hands. I want to touch him. I can’t do that, don’t even know if he would permit it at this point. I catch sight of a small shell lying on the ground nearby, the light glinting on its iridescence. I pick it up and just toy with it, tracing its curved outlines with my fingertips. My voice is quiet but I know he will hear me.  
  
“Malcolm, do you know what haunts me?”  
  
I continue without really giving him a chance to speculate on the question.  
  
“Piral and Jaina. Degra died for this – for what we accomplished – saving his world and ours. His children were the most important things in the world to him, and now they’re fatherless. He didn't plan to die; he was a victim of treachery and murder, but I think in some ways death might not have been unexpected or unwelcome.”  
  
I know I’m rambling, but I’ve turned these thoughts over and over in my mind, and the words just keep pouring out, now that I’ve uncorked them.  
  
“By helping us, he was protecting his family, his world. A bit ironic, since he originally thought he was doing just that in building the weapon in the first place... and in deploying it. We’re lucky he changed his mind about that…”  
  
My voice trails off as the memories of those days become almost overwhelming. This is what has kept me from falling asleep on so many nights and what makes me wake up sweating and terrified from the nightmares when I do.  
  
Malcolm has seen all of that, all too often, and he deserves to know about the cause, as much as it hurts to say it all aloud. I know he’s listening… but he’s not giving me much feedback here. I miss that; I’m feeling cut off from something I’ve come to depend on.  
  
My own damn fault. I take a deep breath and continue.  
  
“Sometimes I think about whether we would have killed his children, if things had turned out differently – if he hadn't believed me – if we really had to do 'whatever it takes' to secure Earth. Even if we had to accomplish that by wiping out Xindi colonies, Xindi civilization – doing to them as we didn’t want them to do unto us. Being there first with the biggest weapon.”  
  
I could hear the bitterness in my voice. And I don’t know if the anger is at my orders or at myself for knowing I would have followed them. Even if it meant knowing the names of some of the people we would be killing in doing so.  
  
“And yes, Degra felt guilty as hell about what his weapons research did to innocent people on Earth, even before he know any of their names. God, I can relate to him. I killed innocent people too. Not as many, no… but its not a matter of arithmetic, Malcolm. It’s the first one that hurts most. I think.”  
  
I focus for a moment on the shell I’m still holding… so beautiful and so fragile… before hurling it into the waves.  
  
“Our casualties had names and faces – Elizabeth Tucker, of course… but also Jane Taylor… and Fuller… Kamada, Marselle, O'Malley…”  
  
Malcolm picks up the litany of names; it is probably as deeply etched into his memory as it is in mine.  
  
“… Hawkins, Hayes… I know.”  
  
His voice trails off into a long silence. Before he speaks again, he turns to face me, searching my eyes.  
  
“You know I carry my own share of guilt for the ones I killed. I probably always will. And I don’t know how to alleviate any of yours. But damn it, Jon… let me in…”  
  
I don’t say anything. I don’t know what I __can__ say… or what he expects me to say. I just want to roll back time and be the Jon and Mal who exchanged promises for the future on this beach a year ago. We were no longer naïve, but we __were__ still innocent.  
  
Now Malcolm is the one who seems not to know what to do with his hands or where to rest his eyes. His voice is very quiet when he finally breaks this latest silence.  
  
“I believe I know something of self-sacrifice, Jonathan. And I recall that __you’re__ the one who wouldn’t permit it. You were damn well going to find a way to save both me __and__ your ship in that bloody minefield. I was more than prepared to make the necessary sacrifice. You not only disagreed, you dragged me back from it. And you were pretty damn convincing. It wasn’t just your words… I don’t know exactly what it was, but __something__ intangible happened between us then. Something important. Somehow you __knew__ … and I __knew__ … that I wouldn’t try that again. That I’d trust you to find another way.”  
  
His words and the vividness of my own memories of that day on the hull catch me by surprise. He’s right; he could have lied to me then… and pulled the air hose again the moment I turned my back on him. But he didn’t. He’s never lied to me… nor I to him. I nod silently in agreement, and he continues.  
  
“That’s why I trusted you at the end, when we spoke on Degra’s ship, and when I handed you the charges there on the weapon. Trusted that you _would_ find a way… that neither of us was going to be allowed to make that kind of sacrifice.”  
  
“Malcolm, it was my job to destroy that weapon, no matter if it killed me. Not to order you to your death. I couldn’t do that… “  
  
My voice drops to a whisper. “Not in the minefield… not on the weapon… I would always find another way.”  
  
I’m back on that weapon again – seeing the garish lighting, the unfamiliar layout, the questions in Malcolm’s eyes – virtually reliving those final moments with him there, when I had to fight to keep my gaze and my hand steady as he pressed the detonator into my palm.  
  
Mal finally reaches out to touch me, pulling me back to the present, taking my hand between his as he meets my eyes, Until that moment I wasn’t sure if he’d ever want to touch me again.  
  
“Jonathan, you’ve kept all this inside since the attack on Earth, since the first days in the Expanse. I’ve tried… tried so hard… to be there, to be what you needed.”  
  
He pauses, his words trailing off for a long moment as he searches my eyes. I nod very slightly, a silent acknowledgement of the truth in his words. He continues, never breaking eye contact.  
  
“You’ve been strong. You’ve given me courage… and you’ve leaned on me sometimes when you were searching for courage of your own. In doing that you made _us_ stronger than ever. I’m still here, Jonathan. I’ll always be here.”  
  
His hands feel warm wrapped around mine. It’s not cold; the breeze is still light, but I’m shivering, and I can feel my hand trembling a little. This is the way it feels when I wake up from the nightmares. And I’m just as helpless to stop the spiraling panic. But Malcolm has always known how to do that.  
  
“Let me help now. Let's try to heal together, love...”  
  
All I can do is squeeze his hand and nod my acceptance… of his suggestion… of __him__.  
  
“Let’s walk some more, Mal…”

* * *

**_How far we are from morning…_ **

 

“That café was a good choice for dinner, Malcolm. I wasn’t sure I’d feel up to a meal in public tonight, after…”  
  
I nod and squeeze his hand lightly. After the emotional roller coaster of our afternoon walk, Jon has stayed close to me, close enough to touch. Even during dinner, his leg pressed against mine under the table.  
  
“I remembered seeing it last year, but we didn’t get a chance to try it then. It looked like a place where we’d be able to have some privacy, love. And I did request a table in the back… the ocean view was a bonus.”  
  
“It was perfect… good food and no one making any fuss… and what a sunset that was.”  
  
“Yes, I’m glad you convinced me to stay for dessert – both the cheesecake and the sunset were lovely.”  
  
The vivid orange of the twilight sky has faded to a deep purple afterglow on the water as we return to our room at the B&B, the same place we’d stayed after our wedding. Jon programs some music while I open the bottle of wine left for us by our hosts in the spirit of an anniversary gift.  
  
I pour just one glass, and offer it to Jon as he settles onto the sofa near the window. The curtains are open and the moonlight is very bright, so I dim the room lights before curling up next to him, leaning against his shoulder.  
  
Jon swirls the wine in the glass and takes a small sip, then offers it to me.  
  
“I think this is the same wine we ordered when we were here before.”  
  
I meet his eyes and raise the glass in a silent toast before tasting it and nodding my agreement.  
  
“Yes, I think Julia at the wine shop has a good memory. We should stop by and say hello to her.”  
  
Julia was one of the kind people who had witnessed our wedding vows – we didn’t know anyone here, but we both had taken a liking to her immediately – one of those chance encounters that made us feel very welcome here.  
  
I can feel Jon relaxing as we share the wine and let the music and moonlight wash over us. I smile and nestle closer, happy just to be here together. When his arm around me tightens, I let my hand wander across his chest, unbuttoning his shirt slowly and slipping my fingers beneath it. When my fingertips graze a nipple, I feel his quick intake of breath and lift my head to meet his kiss. He must have set the empty glass aside because he’s wrapping both of his arms around me to pull me closer. As the kisses linger, I taste the last of the wine on his lips. His fingers are threading through my hair, and I can feel his growing arousal pressing against my hip as he shifts me across his lap.  
  
Part of me doesn’t want to move, __ever__. It feels so good to be held close like this, and I rest my cheek against his bare chest for long moments as Jon drops kisses into my hair. When he begins sliding his hands up my back beneath my sweater, I lift my head to smile at him and whisper that we might be more comfortable on the bed. He nods his agreement, and I slip from his arms and stand to tug my sweater off. Jon helps me out of my trousers and I return the favour before drawing him down next to me on the wide bed.

* * *

The rest of the night should have been a happy blur, but instead it is etched indelibly on my mind. I replay every moment of it as I lie here sleepless, holding him… as I held him on so many of his troubled nights in the Expanse. I try to figure out where things went wrong, what I did or didn’t do that left us where we are now.  
  
Once we moved to the bed, I began trailing small kisses across his jawline to his earlobe, then down his neck and shoulder. His hands were warm on my skin, and as is inevitable when he touches me, I wanted him very much and I know he knew it.  
  
He could have had me any way he wanted me, but Jon was leaving it up to me to take the lead this time. And what I wanted tonight was to make love to him slowly. At least to start out slowly – I always love hearing his voice as he grows increasingly incoherent as his body responds to my touch.  
  
I whispered to him to turn over so that I could rub his back. I wasn’t thinking about it in those terms, but it is something that I did the last time we were in this bed, when we came together for the first time after exchanging our vows.  
  
Jon rolled onto his stomach, and I moved to straddle his legs, kneeling so I could stroke slowly, from his shoulders across his strong back muscles down to the curve of his beautiful arse. My intention was to touch him everywhere, caressing, and as my hands moved lower, I could feel him shivering beneath the touch. And I heard his soft moan as I gently spread his cheeks a bit with both hands to let my fingertips tease between them, a promise of more to come. Leaning forward, I pressed my cock against him, not seeking entry yet, but wanting Jon to feel how much I wanted him.  
  
His voice was husky as he murmured my name and he tilted his hips a little, pressing up against my cock, hungry for more contact. I rocked against him for a moment, and then leaned forward to touch his shoulder blade lightly with my lips before shifting to lie alongside him, drawing him close so that I could kiss him properly.  
  
It was a deep, lingering kiss that sent a fresh ripple of arousal through my whole body. I continued nuzzling and kissing my way down his neck and chest, pausing to take a nipple between my lips, feeling it harden beneath my tongue. By then I was aching for more contact, and moved to cover his body with my own, molding myself against him. I could feel Jon’s erection pressing insistently against mine, but I wanted to take my time and make this wonderful for him, for both of us.  
  
Jon was kissing me again, stroking the nape of my neck, tracing my ear with a fingertip, letting his hands roam across my back before sliding down to cup my arse. It was a light touch and not demanding, but it felt to me as though a current was arcing directly from his fingers though my body to my cock, making me even harder than I already was. I needed more of him, and wanted him to share what I was feeling.  
  
I shifted my position a bit, gently nudging his legs apart so that I could lie between them, planning to take him in my mouth. He has always opened to me so freely, offering me all of himself, trusting me so implicitly… ever since our very first encounters. But tonight, Jon seemed to resist the shift in position. I’m sure he knew what I wanted, but instead of welcoming it, he drew me back up against his chest for another kiss, slow and very deliberate, seemingly intent on keeping me right there.  
  
Between kisses he was whispering over and over that he loved me, but I sensed no urgency in his responses, and with the full lengths of our bodies once again pressed close together, I could feel almost the exact moment when something happened... when the pressure against my groin lessened.  
  
“What’s wrong, love? Was it something I did?”  
  
Jon didn’t say anything, just continued to stroke my shoulders and thread fingers into my hair, almost as if trying to hold onto me. I worried that memories of our afternoon discussion were creeping into his thoughts and distracting him, so I redoubled my efforts at seduction, slipping from his arms and running my hands over his chest and stomach to provide some distraction. He didn’t stop me, but I wasn’t seeing, or feeling, or hearing any of his usual responses to my touch. When I reached his groin, his cock was softening and I rested my hand on it lightly, teasing a little, but evoking no response.  
  
This was beginning to worry me. I’ve seen all of his moods in bed, from joyous and playful to intense and passionate. I’ve seen him exhausted, angry, upset, sad… the whole spectrum of emotional states, but I’ve __never__ felt him completely unresponsive to my touch. There were nights in the Expanse when I knew he was far too worried or exhausted for anything but sleep, and I always tried to be what he needed, and never to ask more of him than it seemed he could give. At other times he surprised me with the urgency of his need to lose himself in my arms and bury himself in my body, perhaps a way to forget everything else for a little while.  
  
But tonight was different, since I know I hadn’t mistaken his initial responses. He _had_ wanted me, then his arousal just dwindled. I asked if he was tired; I didn’t want to worry him more, just wanted to be there with him, __for__ him. But nothing I did, none of the things that usually drive him to distraction, made any difference.  
  
Finally I asked again if it was me, if I was doing something wrong, if it was something I’d said… maybe from earlier today. He was silent for a long time, and I could feel the tension in his body as he finally replied to me,  
  
“Malcolm, it isn’t you… not at all. It’s me... I don’t know what it is.”  
  
His voice was quiet and almost toneless, with none of its usual warmth. As he continued, it took on the edge of despair that I’d heard from him sometimes on his more troubled nights.  
  
“Maybe I'm just not young anymore... or something’s just __wrong__ in me… something’s broken.”  
  
Then he tried to roll onto his side, to pull away from me. And that was more than I could bear.  
  
I drew him back to lie facing me, needing to see his eyes, needing to stay connected with him somehow. And I replied to him in the only ways I could, trying to reassure him though my voice and words – and through my touch and closeness – that it was okay, that we were here together, and this wasn’t something to worry about. Maybe I was also trying to reassure myself of the same, though without much success.  
  
“Maybe you’re just tired, love… and stressed… nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s okay, Jon… love you...”  
  
Stretched out next to him, I drew his head onto my shoulder, wrapping my arms around him protectively. He seemed to calm as I held him, and finally fell asleep still cradled in my arms.  
  
I don’t think I’m going to get any sleep tonight.

* * *

**_Once, as the night was leaving…_ **

 

I must have finally slept. It’s daylight when I wake up, but the sky is grey and overcast. Malcolm is nowhere to be seen. He’s typically an early riser though, so his absence doesn’t worry me too much. He might have gone out for coffee, or even to take a walk.  
  
Assuming he slept at all. I know I upset him, but I also know that he was there holding me close until I fell asleep. Just as I did on so many nights in the Expanse. But we’re home and safe, so those nights should be behind us now, shouldn’t they? And last night __was__ different, and I know it bothered him a lot.  
  
He wanted so much to remind us both of our wedding night here last year – the wine, the music, the way he wanted to make love to me. His incredibly sensual touch and the way he was holding himself against me… it was intoxicating. It was quintessential Malcolm, the man I love more than I ever thought it possible to love anyone.  
  
And he wanted __me__ , was showing me with every touch how much he needed me. I know him well enough to realize that it’s not only for my pleasure that he wants to take me into his mouth. He loves touching me, stroking my cock, kissing and licking and sucking until I cry out that I can’t hold back any longer. I know he needed that from me last night, and god knows I wanted him as well… but suddenly it was all too much.  
  
I’m not sure exactly what happened to make things go so wrong. I tried to hide it from him, hoping it was momentary, but I should have known that would be impossible. I know too that he must have been hurt, and puzzled, and I probably wasn’t any comfort to him. God, I didn’t even ask if I could do anything… he was hard as hell with wanting me, and I did nothing about it except let him hold and soothe me till I fell asleep in his arms. I’m not very proud of any of it… of how I handled what happened to me, of how I had nothing to offer him, the man I married and promised to cherish.  
  
I know I’ll have to find a way to make it up to him… if he still wants me at all after last night.

* * *

When I finally get out of bed, I notice a breakfast tray on the table by the couch. Nothing fancy, just some muffins and fruit, but there’s a note from Mal alongside the basket letting me know he had indeed gone for a walk.  
  
He’s still not back by the time I’ve showered and dressed, so I decide to skip the breakfast and go looking for him. Before pulling on a sweater, I step out onto the small balcony to check the weather. It looks as if it’s been drizzling rain, but might be clearing now. As I glance down toward the beach, I spot a solitary figure sitting on the rocky strand, down by the water. I can tell it’s Malcolm, but I’m surprised to see him sitting so close to the tideline. His knees are drawn up close to his chest, arms wrapped around them, his head bent… seemingly oblivious to the incoming tide.  
  
Grabbing the sweater, I go to join him. As I approach, I can see that his shoulders are shaking. I worry that he’s cold and wet; he’s almost certainly been out here for some time, sitting in the rain. I kneel beside him, alarmed that he hasn’t even acknowledged my presence. Malcolm is always so aware of his surroundings – I learned a long time ago that it isn’t at all easy to sneak up on him.  
  
“Mal… love, what is it? Are you okay?”  
  
There is no reply, so I shift to sit close behind him, draping my sweater over his shoulders and drawing him back against my chest. He doesn’t resist this, but I can feel him still shaking, his whole body wracked with silent tears. The tide is still rising, bits of foam just beginning to ripple at our feet as I wrap my arms around him in equally silent comfort. In time he seems to grow calmer, but the tension is still there in every muscle of his body. I simply hold him close, rocking him slowly, ignoring the tide except to match its subtle rhythm.  
  
I remember something now, something he’d told me on my first night back on _Enterprise_ , after he thought I’d been killed on the Xindi weapon. I remember how he’d said he needed to grieve… how he would come here, to this place that meant so much to us, and grieve alone… like this… on the shore, letting the tide take his tears.  
  
But it shouldn’t be happening, not like this...  
  
“Mal… Malcolm, I’m here. I’m not dead…”  
  
It is a long few moments before he manages to reply.  
  
“I can’t reach you, Jon. I can’t touch you. I can hold you and comfort you, but I’m not... I’m somehow not enough. Not what you need, whatever that is.”  
  
It nearly breaks my heart to hear Malcolm’s voice cracking as he struggles with the words.  
  
“Last night… last night I couldn’t even convince your body that I was what you needed…”  
  
He takes a deep breath and continues, his voice hollow.  
  
“Yes, I’m grieving… you’re not dead, but I feel like I’ve lost you anyway.”  
  
The tide is washing over our feet now, and still I hold him. Where are the words to assuage that kind of grief... the desolation in his voice, in his eyes when I gently turn his head toward me.  
  
“Malcolm, no. You haven’t lost me. It’s me. __I’ve__ lost me. If I didn’t have you to hold me, to pick me up when I stumble... to show me the way, and keep showing me even when I’m too much the stubborn sonofabitch to follow it. Without that, without __you__... I don’t think I’d have any hope of finding myself again.”  
  
I feel him just begin to relax as I cradle him close, shifting a little to draw him onto my lap. My own words finally start pouring out... trying to explain.  
  
“Last night... you were giving me so much of yourself. It felt wonderful, and I wanted to respond... wanted it to be just like when we were together here last year. Then my head took over and all I could feel was guilt... that I __wasn’t__ the man you loved that night. The man you were making love to was the man who tortured and murdered, the one who is now a marauder more than an explorer, someone who would have destroyed a species, a world... and used you as the weapon to do it. I didn’t deserve you, Malcolm. I __don’t__ deserve you.”  
  
My voice is breaking as I lay my fingertips across his lips... I need to say the rest now before hearing his reply. But I have to move my hand from his lips to brush my fingers across my eyes; I want to see him clearly... and the tears are in the way.  
  
“I don’t deserve you... but I need you, more than I’ll ever find words to tell you. And I love you, Malcolm... you are my life. You are my moral compass, you’re the place I know I can find a safe refuge.”  
  
I pause and draw a deep breath before continuing.  
  
“I can’t promise that the healing will always be easy, but I will try never to shut you out the way I did last night. I can’t begin to apologize for the way I reacted… hurting you was the last thing I wanted to do. But if you still want me, Malcolm, I’m yours. All of me. Always.”  
  
His eyes are dark as they search mine. I hold my gaze as steady as I can, the tears spilling now, unchecked, unashamed. Finally he nods and without more words simply presses his mouth to mine... barely touching at first, then reaching out to touch my lips with his tongue, asking entrance. I open to him gladly, needing this so much... deepening the kiss until we both have to pull back to breathe, our faces still close together. I feel his body relaxing and can’t help breathing a long sigh... relief that he somehow still loves me, still wants me. That he can accept me as I am, flaws and faults and weaknesses included.  
  
Malcolm takes my hand and lays it on my chest, over my heart... then shifts our joined hands to rest over __his__ heart as he speaks.  
  
“Jonathan, I think we both know... __here__... and __here__... that I will always love you, always need you. We promised our lives and our love to each other... right here, almost on this very spot. I meant those words, love. Including the forever part. __Especially__ the forever part.”  
  
I’ve run out of words. I can only squeeze his hand as it rests over his heart, feeling the reassuring presence of his wedding ring on my hand as I do. Then I have to kiss him again, needing to convey all I can’t say.  
  
The tide crests and turns as we sit silently, his body warm and relaxed as I hold him very close... no need for talk right now.  
  
From within the silence, I find myself murmuring softly, the words coming slowly.  
  
“… will always cherish you... respect you... shelter... defend... “  
  
As if moved by the same impulse, Malcolm echoes those words and we both reaffirm the vows we’d made to each other over a year ago. He touches the ring he’d given me, tracing it with a fingertip... and I mirror that gesture, the cool smoothness of the simple band serving to calm me. The calmness is a gift he’s given me so often, even before we found our way to one another, sometimes with a simple reassuring glance when I would look to his station on the bridge.  
  
After the words of our vows have trailed into a peaceful silence, he stirs a little in my arms and asks if I’m warm enough.  
  
“Almost, love. But the clouds are moving in again, and I just felt a few drops of rain. Would you like to go back inside with me? I think I know where we should be after exchanging those vows.”  
  
Malcolm nods, a smile lighting his face for the first time. I unwrap my arms from around him and he stands, offering me a hand up. We embrace again, no need for words this time. Bur there’s still one question I have for him.  
  
“How did you know exactly where to sit, Malcolm? I was worried that you were too close to the incoming tide and were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t notice it.”  
  
His smile widens and he takes my hand as we walk back up the rocky beach to the inn.  
  
“Don’t worry, love. I may not __like__ the water, but I’m still a Reed. I knew where I was... and more importantly... I know where I am and where I always want to be. "  
  
His voice drops to a breathy whisper.  
  
"With you."

* * *

**_Once, when our hearts were singing…_ **  


 

We got up early today, having spent most of the day yesterday sheltered in our room, much of it in bed. We loved, and talked, and curled up together by the small fireplace for some storm-watching. We ordered out for dinner, and this morning we had breakfast in bed improvised from some leftover fruit and many kisses.  
  
The weather has cleared and we're taking a slow walk down the beach. Jon has his trouser legs rolled up, his strong legs more pale than the rest of his visible skin, the overall effect being to make him look very young. He smiles at me and takes my hand as our path takes us past the only other people on this stretch of beach.  
  
As we get closer, I see that it looks like the same child we saw on our first day here. A little dark-haired boy, maybe four years old, is playing near the water's edge... squatting down, picking up shells... not really collecting them, just looking at them. As we watch from a little distance, he takes one back to show to a man a few steps away from him on the beach. The man examines the shell, then smiles at the boy and kisses his forehead. The child turns and goes back to the tidepool to place the shell back in the water.  
  
Jon greets the man – we assume it's the boy's father – with a friendly wave and hello. After a small exchange about the weather and how deserted the beach is this morning, Jon nods toward the child still crouched down at the tidepool. "He's so intent on what he's doing. I noticed he was putting the shell he showed you back into the water. Most kids would keep a pretty shell."  
  
The man smiled, looking at us both and then nodding toward the boy. "Ah, we saw a hermit crab in a shell like that yesterday. Liam and I talked about how they carry their home with them wherever they go, sometimes changing shells for a bit, but often going back to one favorite. Just now he showed me that shell he found, and said he was going to put it back so the crab would have his home waiting for him to go back to."  
  
Perhaps drawn back by the sound of his father talking to us, the boy pulls himself to his feet and comes back over to us. Putting his arms around his son's shoulders, resting them on his small chest, he asks, "All done, Liam?"  
  
The child’s reply is soft, maybe a little shy of these strangers. "I put it back... like before. Now the crab can go home again. It's waiting for him."  
  
I nod, catching Jon watching me, a glint of wetness in his eyes. He brushes the back of his hand across them, then turns back to the father and son. To my surprise, he stoops down to the child's eye level and says very seriously, "Thank you for telling us about that. It's good to have a home... " I hear the catch in his voice as it breaks a little before he continue. "... a home waiting for you. Someplace you can always go back to..."  
  
We wish them a good day and continue our walk on down the beach, hand in hand... silently. But just past the next inlet, Jon suddenly drops to his knees on the beach and pulls me down into his arms. He's holding me tightly, but still manages to meet my eyes... his own eyes are very wet now, and he's making no effort to hide his tears. I reach up to brush away those that have slipped free and are sliding down his cheeks.  
  
"I have a home waiting for me too, Malcolm... the place I always come back to. I thought Earth would be home, but it’s not really that. It’s _you_ , wherever we are. I know that now, more that ever – each of us is shelter to the other.“  
  
He pauses, searching my face, my eyes; his voice is low but steady.  
  
"And I think there's room for another. Our son or daughter... maybe he'll have your eyes... or her face will mirror your smile..."  
  
I don't know if he means my smile in general, or the one I know he must be seeing right this moment. Before I can say anything, he continues.  
  
"I wasn't sure about the idea... When you mentioned it on our first night back together, I didn't think I had anything left of 'me' to offer anyone else. I know... you accepted me that way, but it was nothing to offer a child in a father. But you sounded so very sure...”  
  
I turn in his embrace so that I can wrap my arms around him, and kiss him softly. I can't find any words for what I'm feeling right now. After the kiss, Jon continues, his sea-green eyes clear and steady as they seek and find mine.  
  
"Now I'm sure too. And this __is__ the right time... we're finally home now. Together."

* * *

**_Once, all dreams were worth keeping... I was with you._ **


End file.
